Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,12

heart, sin wasn’t unattractive at all. It was the faint brush of his hard body against hers as they passed in the kitchen or the slow, dangerous smile he gave her when they were alone and he was stealing batter from her cake mix. Only she got to see what no one else did when he dropped his guard and let himself be just a man, instead of forcing his reputation and his scowling menace down people’s throats.

“Fine, luv. Fine. Won’t say it.”

His hard body seemed to surround her, fingertips caressing her jaw so lightly she could have escaped if she’d wanted to.

He still didn’t understand what the problem was. She could walk away now, knowing that their friendship would remain as it always had, that her nights would be spent in a torture of thwarted desire whilst he lay on the other side of the wall, no doubt oblivious to her true feelings.

She could pull away. She should.

It was the sensible thing to do. The Esme thing.

If she wanted to…

Her fingers loosened from their tight fist and flexed wide, hovering an inch away from his abdomen. Esme couldn’t believe what she was suddenly thinking. She was so damned tired of waiting for him to notice her feelings. Of being too afraid to voice them.

She didn’t want to be sensible anymore.

“Do you want to know why I’m so upset?” Esme whispered, forcing the words through trembling lips. If she couldn’t say this now, then she never would.

“Aye,” he said gruffly, tilting his face lower as if to find the answers in her eyes.

“Because I wanted it to be me,” she whispered, sinking her fist into the collar of his shirt and lifting onto her toes to press her lips to his.

***

Rip froze, sucking in a sharp hiss of air between his parted lips.

He could taste her on his mouth, in the warmth of her breath… Everything he’d ever dreamed of and couldn’t believe was actually happening.

Esme’s soft body wilted against him, her fists curling in his shirt and her mouth closing over his with a hungry little moan. The dart of her tongue lashed through him, as though it flickered directly over the length of his cock. He was hard in seconds, his hands sliding into the coarse stiffness of her bustle as he wrenched her against him.

Esme.

Christ. Rip hesitated, a furore of emotion swirling through him. Dangerous. The heady drumbeat of her pulse was suddenly thick in his ears. She dragged his head down and captured his mouth with a wantonness that pushed him straight over the edge. Rip staggered forward, taking her with him. Somehow her back hit the wall and then he was pressing against her, hand fisting in her skirts and need burning through him like a raging river.

A flash of red swept behind his closed lids and Rip groaned, his hips thrusting unconsciously against her. Steady. He forced his fingers to unclench in her skirts but Esme bit his lip, a flare of pain and pleasure shooting through him.

Her breath. Ragged in his ears. The taste of her, burning through him, igniting every desire Rip had. Her pulse. Her god-damned pulse, thundering now. Rip groaned, wrenching his mouth from hers. Esme’s hand curled in his collar as if she wasn’t prepared to let him go but he had to get away. If he didn’t he’d be on her, teeth digging into the smooth column of her throat, his hand dropping to the blade at his waist… Another groan as the thought fired his blood.

Get away. Now.

Rip shoved back and reeled into the streets, blinking against the dark shadows of his vision. Movement screamed around him. The predator in him, the hunger, was so furiously aware of Esme, of the throb of her heart, that he didn’t dare take a step toward her.

“John,” she whispered, touching her lips. Her eyes were almost glassy.

Esme took a step forward but he backed away, sliding his hands into his pockets. Christ. Couldn’t she bloody see how close to the edge he was?

He shook his head abruptly. “Don’t.”

Esme froze.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t. Not with you.” The look on her face almost crushed him. As if he had hit her. “Gotta go. I just… I can’t.”

Then he turned and stalked through the steady drift of snow toward the Warren, listening to the sharp, hurt intake of her breath as he tried to stop himself from bleeding her dry.

CHAPTER FOUR

The bristling fir tree went up, the tip bending against the